


she took my heart, i think she took my soul

by sanzuh



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Accidental Incest, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dark Sansa Stark, Dry Humping, F/M, Half-Sibling Incest, Mildly Dubious Consent, Minor Jon Snow/Val, Sort Of, Strippers & Strip Clubs, Unreliable Narrator, i guess, lap dance, you'll see - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-16
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:54:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25936246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sanzuh/pseuds/sanzuh
Summary: Jon wasn't sure how he'd ended up in one, with Alayne writhing in his lap, her flimsy lilac-coloured robe on the floor, the only part of her that was not naked her face covered by her matching bejewelled mask.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark
Comments: 14
Kudos: 158





	she took my heart, i think she took my soul

The first time Jon had entered this club, it had been by accident. He'd seen the sign, he'd heard the stories, but with his car breaking down still miles from home and the pouring rain soaking him all the way down to his bones, he hadn't had much of a choice.

He'd never intended to come back, hadn't even meant to watch the girls. He'd ordered a drink, tipped the waitress, and hoped Sam would be arriving soon to pick him up.

By the time he got there, Jon had wished it would have taken him much longer, because Sam's arrival meant he had to leave. And leaving meant he had to stop looking at _her_.

She was wearing a black, satiny corset, and little else. Most of her face was covered by a feathered mask, her hair was a coppery auburn. When it caught the light, it seemed to be alive with fire.

He tried to tell himself that his body's reaction to her long soft curves was triggered by her resemblance to Val's body, but truthfully, the sight of her sparked a different memory of a woman he'd known in a previous life, a life he'd tried to forget, a woman he'd sworn he would never see again. He'd promised himself he wouldn't even think of her again. 

After the first time, Jon lasted a week before he returned. He tried not to look for her, randomly picking out a booth, but his eyes found her within seconds.

She was in white this time, her long auburn hair pulled into a braid that fell over her shoulder. The mask covering half of her face was white as well and adorned with delicate, intricately patterned lace.

The feigned innocence of it sent a tremor of desire through his body, igniting a spark he couldn't snuff out. Later he'd tell himself it was not this raw, scorching hot hunger she'd awoken inside him that made him come back again, and again, a hunger he'd only felt once before, a hunger that disgusted him. _No,_ he told himself, it was only the mystery of her concealed face that kept pulling him in, not the secret he'd managed to bury deep inside of himself. 

She'd seen him ~~gaping~~ , ~~staring~~ , looking at her. He tried to tell himself there was nothing wrong with that. She knew they were all watching her. It's why they came here. And still, the first time their gazes locked, he felt caught, embarrassed even, shaken that this private, intimate obsession of his was now out in the open. 

She approached him slowly but confidently, and draped herself over the table.

He tucked a couple of dragons into the bright red band under her perfect tits. 

"What's your name?" he breathed stupidly, cupping her soft flesh without thinking as she mesmerized him with the sensual meandering of her body.

"Tsk, no touching," she chided him, veering up and taking a couple of steps back.

Ignoring the urge to reach out, he cleared his throat and mumbled, "I'm sorry."

"Alayne," she answered, the name gliding over tongue as much like honey he could taste it on his own.

"Why do you always wear a mask?" he asked her.

"Seven delights, seven gods," she answered matter-of-factly, as if the connection was obvious. "I'm the Stranger."

He swallowed and licked his lips. "What delights does the Stranger have to offer?"

She offered him a slow smile, her lips curling away from her teeth in an almost feral way as she closed the distance between them. She braced a hand on his shoulder and straddled his lap, slowly lowering herself as she leaned in to whisper in his ear. 

Jon's blood was boiling, and his heart was trying to leap out of his chest as his body grew taut from wanting her so much.

"Your deepest desires," she whispered, her hot breath fanning against his ear. "Your darkest secrets."

He sucked in a sharp breath. _How_... She couldn't know. She couldn't possibly know.

She pushed away from him and laughed, a soft, magical sound, before blowing him a kiss as she sauntered over to the stage, swaying her hips.

His muscles had grown so tense it almost hurt, and he was panting like a dog. _Gods_ , he needed help. 

He wasn't sure how, but he managed to stay away for the next three weeks. When he came back, she wasn't there. He decided to take it as a sign that this should be his last visit. 

He hadn't been planning to come here this time, had not even intended to do so. Sam hadn't been able to keep his mouth shut. It was him who'd put them up to this, by mentioning that one night he'd had to come and pick Jon up from that place. He'd come up with at least a dozen excuses not to go, but he had kept his mouth shut.

_Seven Delights_ offered a small number of private booths, separate cubicles in a hallway in the back, away from the main room. The benches there were more comfortable than the normal booths, the interior more intimate. They could be rented by regulars, often for the purpose of private performances. 

Jon wasn't sure how he'd ended up in one, with Alayne writhing in his lap, her flimsy lilac-coloured robe on the floor, the only part of her that was not naked her face covered by her matching bejewelled mask. 

She'd given up on her no touching rule, encouraging him to knead her breasts and suck on her nipples as she rubbed herself on his pulsing erection, soaking his jeans with her arousal. 

He tried to focus on Alayne, on her body in his arms, her warmth, her skin, her moans, but it was impossible not to think of _her,_ not with the way her auburn hair felt so familiarly soft under his fingers and the way her hips fit so perfectly into his claw-like hungry hands. Her eyes were the exact same crystalline blue. She even smelled like her.

He bit his tongue when the wrong name almost rolled off its tip as her nails dug into his shoulders. 

He came right after she did. He'd been seventeen when that had last happened like this. The shame started creeping into his stomach before they'd rode out their climaxes. He only came this hard when he thought of her, and he'd used Alayne, just like every other man out there.

"Hmm, Jon," she groaned into his ear as he tried to shift them, and an icy droplet ran down his spine. He'd never told her his name.

Her mask had tilted during their--whatever this had been-- and stood askew. He could see she was about to pull back, but even in his orgasm-induced haze, he was quick enough to reach out and grab the mask by one end, tearing it away from her face.

He stared at her, lost for words, not quite sure what he was feeling. His fingers tightened around her shoulder, digging into her flesh and his other hand curled around her throat, separated from her skin by the mask. 

"What the hell do you think you're doing, Sansa?"

Gently, she extracted herself from his grip and curled up in his lap, burying her face in his neck. "I've missed you, too, brother."

Bile rose in his throat, not because she'd called him that, but because of the way his body reacted. "Fuck you, Sansa!"

She smiled into his skin, pressing a feathery light kiss to the side of his neck. "Later, perhaps," she sighed contently.

He clenched his jaw to stop himself from saying something he shouldn't, but to him the answer was loud and clear. _Aye,_ the voice inside his head growled, _later._


End file.
